


the beginning of spring

by starlightwalking



Series: Fëanorian Redemption [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Back to Middle-Earth Month, Happy Ending, Just Married, M/M, Married Sex, Morning After, Morning Sex, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 12:01:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30088779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: It was the first morning of his wedded life, and his impossible beloved lay beside him.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Series: Fëanorian Redemption [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484228
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	the beginning of spring

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last fic for B2MeM 2020! I finished it, only a year late, haha!  
> Prompts: “[The beginning of spring](https://arofili.tumblr.com/post/614069218337570816/backtomiddleearthmonth-the-beginning-of-spring)” by Mad_Dillon [Official Prompt] - I interpreted this one pretty loosely, mostly going for the metaphorical aspect of “spring” wrt the title, but I imagine the outside of Mae and Finno’s little cottage looks something like that picture. From the generator I used “It was the first morning of my wedded life, and my impossible beloved lay beside me.” [First Line] and “your favorite ship” [Character Groups] - which, of course, is Russingon :)
> 
> I knew I wanted to conclude with a Russingon fic; they’re my favorites, I love em, can’t get enough. This has been in my drafts foreeeever, way too long really; I knew it wouldn’t take me long to hammer out into something presentable, so I was saving it for the right moment and/or to treat myself after finishing all the other fics for this event.
> 
> This is set in my Fëanorian Redemption verse, the morning after Maedhros and Fingon’s wedding at the end of ATATYA. It’s interesting to come back to this verse, because my headcanons for these two have changed a lot since I wrote that fic, but I do still love them here very much. The aspect of them not being married until the Fifth Age...I just love married!Russingon and getting to that culmination of their relationship after So Damn Long is really beautiful and comforting.

It was the first morning of his wedded life, and his impossible beloved lay beside him.

Maedhros watched in awe as a thin strand of Fingon’s hair fluttered with each of his slow, sleepy breaths. How many mornings like this had they shared before? He didn’t know. Not enough—but still, very many. More than he deserved, he thought sometimes.

But not this time. Right now, in this beautiful moment, Maedhros’ heart only had room for love and joy and gratitude.

He hadn’t expected this to feel so different. They had already been through so much together, been together in a hundred different ways—what difference could rings and vows make? And it was true that he and Fingon were not suddenly transformed into different beings, but he felt...he felt so very _close_ , now, to his husband.

His _husband_. This had been denied them for so long, but no longer. They were together, they were wed, and Maedhros knew he was the luckiest elf in all of Arda.

Sunlight filtered through a gap in the curtains of their little house. Their new _home_. They were still close to the cottage where Nerdanel and his brothers lived, but this place, it was _theirs_. This new life was all _theirs_.

Maedhros smiled, daydreaming of inviting his family over, cooking a meal for them in his own kitchen. Fingon laughing as he entertained. Sweet music as Maglor played the fiddle, and the Ambarussar danced.

Maglor! Ai, Maglor was back! Maedhros had not thought the day of his wedding could be more joyful, but then Oromë rode across the waves and deposited his long-lost brother on the shore and Maedhros almost believed in the love of the Valar again, or at least in the love of the One.

He had held his brother and wept, and Maglor wept also. They had been through so much together, and so much apart, but now they were reunited. Now their family could be whole. Well, almost whole.

Maglor had not stayed with him for long. There were others who missed him: Daeron, Elrond, Nerdanel, five other brothers, and more besides. That was alright; Maedhros had a husband to bond with, and time stretched out eternal. There would be time for Maedhros to be with his brother and his husband both.

Maedhros wondered at the future he held. Not so very long ago he would not have dreamed of such happiness being his, but now...now it was here. Light and joy, and no more blood. No more pain. Or...a reasonable amount, as little accidents happened and tempers flared. But nothing like they had before endured.

“Maitimo,” a soft voice murmured, and Maedhros realized his eyes had fluttered shut. He opened them again just as Fingon shifted in their bed, pressing a kiss to his nose, then another to his lips.

“Findekáno,” he murmured. “Good morning, husband.”

“Every morning is good with you, husband,” Fingon replied, snuggled up closer to him. “Ai, Russo. I am so _glad_. I—” He smiled bashfully, and reached out to Maedhros across their new-formed marriage bond. “I love you.”

It was not as if this was a new statement. They had exchanged such words a thousand times before. But now Maedhros _felt_ it, all of Fingon’s love flooding through his fëa, filling him with such happiness he thought he could melt from it. He clutched Fingon close, breathed in the scent of his hair, and sent all his own love back, until their trust and adoration melted together and they could barely tell one apart from the other.

But they _were_ still two people, even if their fëar were one, and soon one of Fingon’s curls tickled Maedhros’ nose, and he sneezed lightly. Fingon giggled and drew back just an inch to look up at him with fondness.

“Maitimo,” he repeated softly. “My love. Maitimo.”

“Mm...you don’t usually call me that anymore,” Maedhros remarked, absently running his fingers through Fingon’s hair. Not since Angband had he gone by that name; Fingon was the only one he allowed to use it, usually, and even since his reembodiment it was not his favored form of address. And if Fingon chose to use Quenya, he referred to him as Russandol more often than not.

“I know,” Fingon said with a small smile. “I like the name I gave you. Or the name you made for yourself.” He pulled a face, and looked so cute doing it that Maedhros couldn’t help but kiss him.

“Anything but your father name,” Fingon added when they broke apart.

Maedhros snorted. “That’s very rude to my father.”

“I think your father has been rude enough to me and mind that he deserves my criticism of his choice of name.”

“Very true,” Maedhros conceded, and it was not as if “Nelyafinwë” wasn’t also his least favorite name for himself. “Nelyo” was fine, from his brothers, but the full title stank of politics and pettiness, things he had done his best to leave behind in this new life. “And he is not here to listen to your criticisms, regardless.”

Fingon sighed. “I’m sorry, Russo. I know you miss him. I don’t mean to be too terribly rude.”

“It’s alright,” Maedhros murmured, and it _was_ , really. He’d long since accepted Fëanor’s fate. “He deserves it, like you said.”

“But he doesn’t deserve to never walk free again,” Fingon said seriously. “No one deserves that.”

“Even Morgoth?” Maedhros asked.

Fingon scowled, his eyes going icy in a way that made Maedhros shiver, even now. “After what he did to you...yes, he deserves it.”

_It’s alright,_ Maedhros whispered across their bond, caressing his spirit, sharing the depth of his healing. _It was five Ages ago._

_Still,_ Fingon growled, _when the Dagor Dagorath comes, I will be there to strike him down._

Maedhros buried his face in Fingon’s shoulder, trembling from the strength of his husband’s love. He knew it was not truly a question of deserving, but still—how did he deserve this wonderful nér?

“But your father is not Morgoth,” Fingon continued, his voice lighter now, “and his faults aside, I cannot help but be grateful to him.”

Maedhros turned his head. “Oh?” he inquired. “Whatever for. I know why _I_ love him, but you’ve never been fond of him.”

“He helped make you, and I do not know who I would be without you,” Fingon said simply, and kissed him. _Darling Maitimo._

They lay together for a long time in that embrace, exploring each other’s mouths with the patience of husbands who had all eternity to be together. But after a while Maedhros drew back and whispered, “Finno. My Finno.”

“Maitimo.” Fingon sighed happily. “I love your mother name, do you know that? _Well made_. And you are.”

“Finno...” Maedhros groaned. He _did_ know, for how many times had Fingon praised his hröa in such terms? It was something he was still not entirely comfortable with—back when they were young and foolish and madly in love, it had been a vanity, flattery, delightful, but after Angband...well. He _was_ healed, but some scars never fully disappeared, and Maedhros would never let himself forget.

“Even when you were no longer whole,” Fingon insisted. “You were beautiful to me. You were then, and you are now. You always will be. There is _nothing_ that could stop me from loving you.”

He’d said as much the night before, and a thousand other nights prior, but still it brought tears to Maedhros’ eyes. Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Of course you do!” Fingon’s voice was sharp. _We’ve been over this, Russo._ “My love, we are _married_!”

“And I am still waiting for Manwë to come down from Taniquetildë and separate us,” Maedhros said frankly. Oromë may have blessed their union with the gift of a brother returned, but that did not mean the other Valar looked so kindly upon them. “It has only been one night since the wedding, after all.”

“Don’t say that,” Fingon said fiercely. “I _won’t_ let it happen. Never, never, _never_ again.” He clung to Maedhros so tight he found it difficult to breathe, flooding his spirit with all his love and desperation, the agony of their long separation, the joy of their reunion, the bliss of their eternal union now at long last.

“Do you remember the first time we made love after I got you back?” he growled, nipping at Maedhros’ shoulder.

Maedhros sighed, relaxing in his husband’s embrace. “Mm,” he hummed. “How could I forget!” It had been a fierce and desperate coupling, and he had wept with the joy of it, sensitive as he was from receiving a new hröa. To feel Fingon with him again, _within_ him again...it was absolution and bliss that was burned into his soul.

“I swore I’d never lose you again, and I meant it, Russo.” Fingon kissed him again, biting at his lips. “Maitimo.”

“Back to my name again,” Maedhros chuckled. “Why are you so fond of my amilessë today? You know my mother did not mean ‘this infant is the most desirable elf alive’ when she named me.”

Fingon sniffed in mock offense. “She would have been right.”

“You were not yet around to know, silly.” Maedhros tapped him lightly on the nose. “She meant ‘this child is the work of my hröa and my fëa.’ She meant ‘this child is the greatest of my creations.’ I was a labor of love and fire, and she wanted to mark that.” He hummed. “My father agreed; I think he was glad she said it in her name, so he had the chance to cleverly insult your father with his choice, instead of worrying how to profess my ‘perfection.’ Of course, he said we were all perfect, though Curvo was certainly his favorite.”

“I _know_ this,” Fingon grumbled, squirming out of Maedhros’ grip and rolling ’til he lay on top of him.

“Then what do _you_ like about my mother name, Astaldo?” Maedhros teased, using his husband’s own amilessë.

“You are beautiful, and your name means you are beautiful,” Fingon said sincerely. “But though all the world may admire you and adore you, _I_ am your husband, Maitimo. And I get to see _all_ your beauty, in every way.” As if to emphasize his meaning, he wriggled his hips, pressing his hardening length against Maedhros’ stomach.

Ah. So _that_ was what he wanted. A slow smile stretched across Maedhros’ lips. Well, he was happy to provide that. Still, a little more teasing would not go amiss.

“You could before we were wed,” he pointed out. “I remember you praising my beautiful cock on many occasions.”

Fingon let out a sound that in anyone other than a Prince of the Noldor could be considered a “squawk.” _Russo!_

Maedhros laughed. “You have always seen my beauty, dear Finno. Though I believe you to have believed it yourself when you called me beautiful in our time in Beleriand, I cannot bring myself to believe it on my own... _except_ for that part.” He shifted, rearranging them to better grind against his husband, further exciting them both. “Whatever else they did to me, and even to my cock, I know that I remained beautiful enough simply because it pleased you so.”

“Stop it, you fiend,” Fingon gasped, his fingers digging into Maedhros’ shoulders, “or I shall have to give you another demonstration!”

“Oh?” Maedhros grinned. “I would not be opposed.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Fingon grumbled, reaching over to the nightstand and fumbling for the vial of oil. “Well...I’m still open from last night, mostly...this shouldn’t take long...”

Indeed it did not, and Maedhros watched with greedy eyes as his husband gave himself a cursory preparation. At last Fingon stretched out his whole body, his eyes blown wide with lust, ready for Maedhros’ cock.

Maedhros was not yet fully hard. “You’ll have to stir me more than that if you want—” he began, only for Fingon to roll his eyes and descend upon his length, licking and sucking, making the most obscene noises he could. Soon Maedhros was breathing hard, panting out, “ _Oh_...yes, just like that, Finno, my darling, my love—my _husband_ , I shall never tire of saying that, of knowing you are mine always, forever, that I am yours, oh, _Finno_ —”

Fingon popped off his cock with a mischievous smirk. “Are you sufficiently stirred, husband dearest?”

“Get up here, you _fiend_ ,” Maedhros scolded. “I have been whipped by Balrogs, and yet you stoke hotter fire within me.”

“Mm, hotter than—” Fingon began, but then he was sinking down onto Maedhros and his words trailed off into a moan. “Ohh, _hnng_ , you fill me up so good, Maitimo, so deep, so— _ahhh_...”

“Finno, Finno, Finno, my Finno,” Maedhros croaked, thrusting up into his lover, overwhelmed by love and pleasure. “I love you, so hot and tight and good, so perfect, I love you, I love the way you move with me, I love you, I love you—”

It was strange; he used to have trouble saying that. But now, with Fingon on top of him, around him, clutching him body and spirit, it was the easiest thing in the world, the only truth he was absolutely certain of. _I love you, I love you, I love you..._

“You’re so beautiful,” Fingon groaned, meeting each thrust with great enthusiasm. “My perfect golden Maitimo...you are more gorgeous every moment I see you, feel you... _ohh_ , I love you, what did I do to deserve you, my Russandol...”

Maedhros could have wept with lust and love; as it was, he felt his climax approaching swiftly, spurred on by his husband’s words. He clutched Fingon’s hips, helping to lift him up and slam him back down onto his cock, all the while babbling out incoherent adoration: “Finno, my Finno, my husband, my love—”

“ _Ahh_ ,” Fingon gasped, and tightened around him as he spent. “Russo!”

“Finnooo,” Maedhros groaned, and spilled inside him, his vision going white for just a moment.

When his head cleared he was limp against the pillows, Fingon still atop him, tracing abstract patterns on his bare chest.

“Hmmmmng,” Fingon sighed. “That was nice.”

Maedhros smiled. “I would apologize for not lasting longer, but...well.” _It’s not as if we can’t do it again._

“Can I stay here?” Fingon murmured, wriggling a little in a way that made Maedhros moan softly. “With you inside me? I want to...to be yours for just a little longer.”  
  
“Ai, yes,” Maedhros agreed, “just don’t be too rough about it... And you will always be mine, Finno. _Always._ ” He clutched his beloved’s hands. “We swore it, remember? To each other.”

“Husband,” Fingon whispered. “My husband, at last. Forever.”

“Forever,” Maedhros affirmed. “I love you.”

“I love you. My Russandol.” Fingon leaned down, kissing first one of his eyelids, then the other. “My Maitimo. All this beauty, just for me.”

“Just for you,” Maedhros promised. “Always for you. I am yours, entirely.”

“And I am yours,” Fingon murmured, his warmth embracing Maedhros utterly, hröa and fëa. “Your Finno.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and please comment if you enjoyed!  
> You can find me on tumblr [@arofili](http://arofili.tumblr.com/).


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